Bested
by MyIndulgence
Summary: John wakes up, tied to a chair, back in the clutches of Sherlock's biggest fan.
1. Chapter 1

John's eyes opened. He stared down at his own chest. His brows furrowed, realizing he had no idea where he was. A quick scan of the room gave him nothing. John tried to shift but ropes confined his wrists. He had flashbacks of the Great Game and the bomb that was weighing down his chest. At least wires didn't surround him this time. Steps rung out of the space, John's head picking up, and then he just sighed. Moriarty smiled to him. He walked closer to John and placed a hand on the man's chin. John looked into the eyes of his tormentor. Moriarty tilted his head, reading through every little thought in John's mind.

" You're my most interesting puppet, I hope you know that." Moriarty expressed. John resisted his urge to roll his eyes. He tried to hold back any weakness in him. Moriarty squeezed the man's cheeks. Every movement was teasing, the free man knowing the soldier couldn't even try to touch him. Moriarty pushed John's head to one side then the other.

" Ooh, guess who's here." Moriarty's voice hit a high note, child-like glee flowing through his cold veins. John could hear careful footsteps echoing in the eerie space. John shifted, looking to the red dots of light taunting him. He took in a breath, knowing he was risking his own wellbeing.

" Run!" John bellowed at the top of his lungs. Moriarty snapped his body around, not pleased with this turn of events. A shot rang out, smacking John in the leg. He cried out, the pain searing through his whole body. Moriarty stalked a step closer to John, anger clear in his eyes. A safety clicked back, announcing a new presence.

" I wouldn't do that." Sherlock's voice came out clearly.

" Oh, Sherlock, so nice of you to join us. Too bad you're already late, we had to start the festivities without you." Moriarty spun around, smile on his face. He opened his arms wide, pointing to the gushing wound on John's leg. Sherlock's jaw loosened slightly. He could pick out every marker of the agonizing pain John was in. His eyes snapped back to Moriarty, stepping closer with the weapon.

" Put that down Sherlock, it's rude. Anyway, my snipers are quite trigger happy." Moriarty said, smile still on his face. The red lights flashed on to Sherlock's torso. The detective looked at them then lowered his gun slowly.

" Slide it over." Moriarty commanded with a teasing curl to his words. Sherlock glared while leaning down. He slid the gun over, Moriarty catching it with his foot.

" Good boy Sherlock." Moriarty picked it up, pocketing the gun calmly.

" Let John go. I've arrived, this…party is between the two of us." Sherlock said.

" Oh, tsk, tsk, my snipers are invited too. Don't leave them out. They get…sad." Moriarty let out, making his face twist in a comical attempt at pity. Sherlock's face went a few degrees colder, thoughts on a murderous rampage.

" You know, you should paint me in a nicer light in your head. I'm just helping you, sweetheart." Moriarty walked to John, moving behind the chair. He put his hand on John's chin, fingertips pressing at his throat. John was forced to stare forward at Sherlock. The duo shared a look, mainly John expressing his discomfort at being touched by this mad man.

" Say hello to Sherlock, John." Moriarty said. John paused, unsure if he was going to get shot for speaking again.

" I'm allowing you to speak. Don't make me shoot you again." Moriarty's words became ice cold.

" Hello Sherlock." John said. Moriarty's fingers slid over the tan skin, landing near his ear.

" Say it's so nice to see you, Sherlock." Moriarty commanded.

" It's so nice to see you, Sherlock." John mimicked. Moriarty smiled, lightly, pulling at his 'toy's' ear.

" It is quite fun having human puppets. There's something so fulfilling about…putting on a show." Moriarty's eyes snapped back up to Sherlock. The detective met his eyes.

" You've done better, Moriarty." Sherlock answered.

" Yes, I know. But I had to do a second show after the first one went so well." Moriarty grinned. " Anyway, it was so easy to take your little pet away, I just had to."

" Let him go." Sherlock tried again. Moriarty shook his head slowly, sealing their fate with such a simple movement. Moriarty stepped away from John. He moved towards Sherlock then passed him, just to tease how close he could get to the detective.

" You just can't be allowed to continue. You just can't." Moriarty answered. More lights played over John and Sherlock's chest, the clusters going over their hearts.

" I see. Can I at least say goodbye to John?" Sherlock let out, voice dipping in understanding of how close to the end he was.

" Just John? He's far much more than that Sherlock. Call him what he really is." Moriarty commanded. Sherlock looked to his partner, John meeting his eye.

" My...love." Sherlock let out the words, the letters falling softly on the floor like snowflakes. John stared at his friend, quite shocked about this.

" John. Sherlock just said something very nice. Don't you have something to say back?" Moriarty prompted. John looked to the man then back to Sherlock. He wanted to mutter a response, defeat this tormentor somehow, but the pain in his leg told him to just go along with it.

" I love you too." John let out. His eyes were wide, his confusion and fright passing on to Sherlock.

" Can I step forward?" Sherlock questioned, allowing all power to go to the other man. Moriarty waved his hand, telling Sherlock to go. The detective walked forward slowly until he was standing in front of John. He put his hands on either side of the chair John was tied to, making the space between him very small. John looked to Sherlock, confused, slightly uncomfortable, but mainly pained. Moriarty taped his foot, checking his watch. The duo had one more minute before Moriarty would tell his snipers to fire. Moriarty wished, at the very least, that he had been able to hear Sherlock and John's last words. He could picture them just as well.

" I never thought I could feel love...but I do." Sherlock would say, stone cold face softening ever so slightly to show the squishy side of the sociopath.

" S, Sherlock." John would let out; still shocked that this was happening. Sherlock would touch him, softly, and kiss his flatmate to tell him that he loved him. Sherlock stood up suddenly, breaking Moriarty from the cheesy movie playing in his head.

" Well, you have to kiss him goodbye." Moriarty remarked, making it an order. Sherlock looked to him, reading him in a second, and then he turned back around. Sherlock leaned down to his partner, mouthed something quietly, and placed a kiss on the tanner lips. John shifted quietly with discomfort. Sherlock stood up from his partner then turned to their tormentor. Moriarty smiled lightly to the detective.

" The game has been...entertaining. It's a pity I have no use for my toys anymore." Moriarty said his own form of goodbye. Sherlock finally let the smile come up his face.

" It's been fun." Sherlock snapped his arm down the second his words were done. A small canister smacked to the ground and smoke started to fill the space. Moriarty coughed, the gas paining his lungs. Shots started to ring out, trying to catch the detective and the army doctor.

" Stop shooting you idiots! He's already gone." Moriarty bellowed out. The shots stopped on command. Moriarty, even in the smoke, walked straight for the chair John had taken up. It was empty. He felt over the ropes, noting a hastily made knife, more of a shank really, had cut through the ropes. Moriarty stood, calmly, then put his hands on the chair. It was up and connecting with the wall in a second. Moriarty smacked it until the pieces fell apart in his hand. The anger flared in his face, seething through his form. He opened his mouth to scream out a singular word that caused him such utter joy and pure anger in the same moment:

" Sherlock!"


	2. Chapter 2

John teeth were grit together, tightening so far he felt like they would crack under the pressure. His breaths were agonizing along with each step he took. The injured leg, the very, very injured leg, seared with every tiny movement. He tried to focus on just getting out of the building, knowing that very, very soon he could sit down. Sherlock tightened his helping arm around John's chest. His eyes searched for the signs of an exit. Sherlock and John stumbled from the building. John took in a large breath of fresh air, a small solace in this generally terrible day. It seemed it was night now. John wondered what time it was and hoped, greatly, that he knew what day it was.

" Are you going to be okay?" Sherlock questioned.

" I just might need my cane again." John said.

" For a real reason this time." Sherlock let out. John released a pained laugh then hissed at particularly heavy step. Sherlock looked around for a safe place to stay. He was distracted when he heard a commotion around the corner. John limped over with Sherlock until the detective could see the sounds. There were no lights on but an obvious police force gathered and prepared to enter the building. Sherlock's expression dropped, not believing how late everyone could be. John was able to lean against Sherlock with weight off his leg, the pain lowering from the lessened pressure.

" Okay, everyone, go!" A very familiar voice barked out. Sherlock and John watched a sea of armed officers flow into the building. They were uniformed with protection, even wearing helmets. Lestrade was standing near one of the vans, speaking into a radio.

" Your plans never work!" Sherlock yelled out. Lestrade's head snapped up, feet paused. It took his mind a second to register then he flipped back. Lestrade waved for two people to follow him and the small group moved over.

" Are you okay?" Lestrade motioned to John's bleeding leg.

" Fine." John let out. Lestrade put his hand in his pocket for his phone.

" Already called." Sherlock let out, meaning an ambulance.

" Police codes make them faster." Lestrade said.

" Already used." Sherlock answered. Lestrade looked at him for a few long second then returned the phone to his pocket.

" How do you know my code?" Lestrade questioned.

" It's not Fort Knox, Lestrade." Sherlock said. The three heard shots ringing out, all eyes snapping to the building. John's eyes closed hoping that they had taken down Moriarty. He wouldn't mind seeing a few bullet holes in the insane man with some strange fascination with John and Sherlock's relationship. The army doctor relived the kiss; giving a quick glance to the partner he was half-hugging. John shifted in his clothes. Sherlock looked to his partner, seeing the thoughts in his head as if they were written in the air.

" You should sit down." Lestrade remembered the people before him, trying to put the rest of his team on the back burner. He motioned to the closest open van.

" Yeah." John let out. Lestrade nodded for the two quiet people behind him to help but John shook his head.

" Can-" John started but Sherlock was already helping him walk forward. The soldier grit his teeth. John nearly collapsed to the seat, hand snapping down to his thigh. He squeezed the flesh to not start crying. John had been shot before but this a direct, through and through shot that was meant for him. It was a pain closely matched by when a bullet ripped through his shoulder.

" Lestrade. We found someone." A male officer came running up to the van. Lestrade turned his head but looked back to Sherlock. The detective gave him a look, saying 'you really think you're needed right now? Don't you have idiots to lead?'. Lestrade glanced to John then started off with his other officers. Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes but instead looked back to John. Their eyes met but it became uncomfortable. John tore his eyes away first and Sherlock dropped his vision to the ground. They were unable to ignore the large fact in front of them. It wasn't every day a psycho made you say 'I love you' to your flatmate.

" I'm sorry I had to..." Sherlock started, looking off to the side.

" Let's just leave that out in the police report." John responded.

" Agreed." Sherlock nodded. John clenched his eyes lids together. He tried to remember being in war, that calm he could get even when injured. It was just like that. John needed to take care of the wound then go right back to fighting. His teeth gnashed together then he faced the still gushing injury. He started to pull the bloody fabric away from his wound, wincing at the feeling.

" Um, when you yelled run…I knew I would need something extra, it was, uh," Sherlock danced around the 'thank you' that was just too uncomfortable to say.

" Glad." Hiss. " I could help." John let out. He touched his wound again, able to gauge where the bullet had passed through.

" You've preformed surgery on yourself." Sherlock read through many layers of thought to find a memory.

" Not much choice when you're the only doctor." John answered.

" You have a very high pain tolerance." Sherlock noted. John turned his head to him, setting a look on the other.

" High annoyance tolerance also." John said, pointedly. Sherlock smiled lightly, feeling the easy click back into the world of banter.

" You must to deal with Sarah." Sherlock answered.

" Don't talk bad about Sarah." John warned.

" This fake devotion grows tiring. You've seen the flaws in your relationship." Sherlock read into it. John's vision dropped.

" We're working some things out. It's not easy for her when you call me away every three seconds." John explained himself. Sherlock looked away from the excuses. John thought about Sarah and how he was going to explain this one. He didn't want to lie but he was not going to tell his girlfriend that his flatmate kissed him. She might actually laugh at the idea. Alarms started right on time; making both men loose their trains of thought.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was strewn out on the floor. His fingers were entangled in his curly locks, hanging without tension. It appeared he was ducking from an explosion but - since there was no fire, burning, or mayhem - it was obvious he wasn't. The detective's chest rose and fell calmly, the pattern of a relaxed consciousness falling into sleep. John stood, at the doorway, witnessing the strange man he had moved in with. He stepped over to him, his injured leg still wincing with the movement but the pain manageable. John walked in a circle around the detective but just concluded the same thing: the detective had fallen asleep. Why it was in this incredibly strange position, John wasn't sure.

The army doctor decided to just let him sleep and started for the kitchen. His hand went to his still healing leg. The doctor's had told him to use a cane but John didn't want to, even if he had a proper reason to use his old one. John fished through the cabinet for something to nibble on while he spent some time on his computer. A sound came from the floor, a near snort, and John turned to him. Sherlock's head turned to the side then he picked his body up. John looked back to the crisps he picked out of the cabinet then turned to his flatmate, waiting for the detective to notice him. Sherlock rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the small creases the carpet had created on his cheek, and then looked to the floor.

" Keep your comments to yourself." Sherlock muttered, loud enough for John to hear him.

" I didn't say anything." John said, pulling open the small bag.

" You were thinking it." Sherlock responded.

" That's not that impressive. Of course I'm thinking about how strange you are." John let out.

" I thought I told you to keep your thoughts to yourself." Sherlock responded.

" You would try to read them anyway." John said. Sherlock picked his head up, looking to the soldier.

" True." Sherlock let out, doing the action in this very moment. John just put a crisp in his mouth and began chewing, making his thoughts words he would say to the other man.

" There's no need for name calling." Sherlock responded to the thoughts then popped up to standing. He stretched his hands above his head, his whole body tensing, and then released it with swinging arms. Sherlock looked like he was randomly invigorated. John wondered how many nicotine patches he had on then wondered how Sherlock could have possibly fallen asleep with them on. The army doctor just walked forward, abandoning the thought behind him. Sherlock could hear the healing in John's leg with his steps then he listened for the light drop of the doctor's body to his chair. Sherlock tapped his fingers together in a pyramid, wondering what he was going to do next.

" So, why were you sleeping on the floor?" John prompted.

" I was trying to see how easy it would be to get out of that position." Sherlock answered.

" For?" John questioned.

" Reasons, John. Must I tell you everything?" Sherlock retorted. John just continued to look at him, not falling for the insult.

" I think you just fell asleep on the floor and don't want to admit it." John said.

" Preposterous, John." Sherlock waved it off.

" Why do you keep saying my name?" John asked, slightly annoyed.

" It's your name, John." Sherlock said.

" Now you're just being annoying." John noticed.

" Difference of opinion, John." Sherlock's face housed a smile at this new annoyance tactic.

" Shut up, Sherlock." John answered.

" But we're having such an enlightening conversation, John." Sherlock let out.

" I am not above hitting you Sherlock." John threatened.

" I'd like to see you try, John." With Sherlock's words, John dropped his crisps to the side and started forward. Sherlock backed up a few steps, turning to keep the space between them. John just continued to stalk forward, waiting for Sherlock to slip up. Sherlock turned again but didn't calculate for a small box that had been placed near the wall. His foot touched it, head snapping back to see the disturbance. John, taking his chance, smacked Sherlock in the arm, not even close to his full strength, just enough to sting a little. Sherlock took in an awkward breath and dropped to the ground.

" Come on, I didn't hit you that hard." John let out then his breath caught in his throat. He looked up to the room, feeling his lungs taking in something that wasn't oxygen. Sherlock put his shirt over his face but the fabric didn't give him much protection from the gas. John put his hand out for the wall to keep standing even as his oxygen was depleted. Sherlock tried to pull himself up, wanting to go to the stair well in hopes this gas wouldn't be through the whole building. A body stepped forward from the stairs, the face giving no clues on to identity because the entirety of it was covered by a gas mask. John looked confused at the man before him while Sherlock's eyes knew it in an instant.

" Moriarty." Sherlock gasped for oxygen even with the word. The man behind the mask just tilted his head slightly, making sure the detective knew he was reacting to the name. Sherlock was forced to his knees while the gas continued to bombard his lungs. John was already on the floor, desperately trying to breath a reasonable amount. His consciousness was slipping but he refused to let himself black out yet. The soldier kept himself awake with the lasts of his energy, leading him to the exact thing he was trying to avoid. Sherlock's cheek met the floor after his whole body couldn't handle anymore of this torture. The duo felt their eyes close and the world turn to black.


	4. Chapter 4

John, winning his fight for consciousness, looked to the insides of his eyelids. His mind slowly tried to recall the situation he was dealing with. He had heard Sherlock utter Moriarty's name and thus the army doctor had to be careful. John could smell clean air; they must have moved somewhere else. He listened for the world around him. There were shifting bodies, very quiet, then something falling on a table.

" Fold." A voice came out, one he didn't recognize.

" If you lot just fold every time, we will never actually play." Moriarty's voice came out, his calm tone that said there was no one to freak out in the moment.

" You always win, boss." The unnamed person said.

" And it's no fun to win if you don't even try." Moriarty responded. John opened one eye, closing it quickly. No one was directly facing him. John dared to open his eye and gain a proper picture of the space around him. The room was concrete and seemed huge, John couldn't actually pick out all the sides of it. This had to be an old factory or something that once housed equipment. John saw there were three men and Moriarty sitting on crates around a larger one. There were cards spread around, all of them playing what looked like poker. Their weapons were leaning on the wall near them. John closed his eyes, not willing to risk this quiet advantage.

" How long until they wake up?" Another voice questioned.

" 10." Moriarty let out regrettably.

" We should have found something that didn't knock them out this long." A third voice chimed in.

" Nothing else was colorless. You saw our options." Moriarty answered.

" Maybe we shouldn't have gone to America for this stuff." The first man muttered.

" The Americans are a lesser species, but they'll do stupid things with their money and then they realize they'll never use it." Moriarty explained, calmly.

" I thought stupid people worldwide were a lesser species." The third man spoke up.

" Americans are just more likely to be stupid. It's not even their fault. They're practically fed it." Moriarty finished. John moved his fingers to see what was holding him back. They felt soft, almost like the hands cuffs they used in hospitals. He rubbed his fingertips over all parts he could touch, compiling a mental picture of them. John nearly sighed when he remembered the weakest part of the cuffs and started on the slow process of weakening it.

" Ah, Sherlock, so nice of you to join us." Moriarty's evil voice was returning in full force. John could hear Sherlock pull at his restraints, knowing this might buy him some much-needed time.

" Your pet hasn't graced us with his presence yet." Moriarty mused, his voice moving closer to the detective.

" This trick, three times, it really gets tiring." Sherlock responded. John could hear Moriarty emit a low laugh, completely entertained by the notion.

" Why fix something that isn't broken? I promise you, this will end interesting." Moriarty's voice went higher, as if he was trying to flirt femininely. John felt his hand go free and he instantly grinned. He knew he shouldn't have but it came out and his cover was blown. John kept his hands in place to make it seem like he was still held.

" Well, look who decided to wake up with a smile. What kind of dreams were you having, Johnny boy?" Moriarty turned his attention to John. The army doctor picked his head up.

" Oh, just about a bullet through your head." John let out, the smile not about to fall.

" Ooh, scary." Moriarty made a face at John's poor attempt to cause fear in him.

" No. It was wonderful." John continued. Moriarty didn't look amused and looked to Sherlock, giving him a different look of judgment. John took the chance to check where Sherlock was, seeing there chairs were right next to each other, like the audience of something.

" You should tell your pet to stop barking." Moriarty said.

" I don't mind it." Sherlock replied, smile creeping up his lips.

" Of course you wouldn't. You're in love with the stupid thing." Moriarty let out with contempt. Sherlock's face changed into a glare. Moriarty just grinned in response, ready to make this a little more theatrical.

" Well, you aren't here just to listen to me talk, even if that is quite fun. I have a little challenge for you two." Moriarty said then turned. He moved over to a crate and picked up a small tray. John could see the three syringes that were resting on the metal. They moved closer to him, slowly.

" One of these needles is poison, one is antidote, and the last one is cyanide. You both get to choose one but, oh, this is the great part, then you have to decide who takes the third one. One of you might walk out of here but it won't be both of you." Moriarty grinned to his designed torture then stepped forward. The tray was placed on their thighs, making a bridge between their legs. The action was teasing, telling them that there was nothing they could do. Sherlock was inspecting the three injections, trying to pinpoint any difference. He concluded that, as expected, they were identical.

" What if I take all of them?" John's voice came out. Sherlock's head snapped to his partner and Moriarty just grinned.

" Now I see why you keep him." Moriarty noted, amused.

" John. Don't." Sherlock ordered. John just kept meeting Moriarty's eyes, challenging him.

" Is it a choice?" John questioned further.

" Of course, John." Moriarty smiled. The man reached for the first needle and John saw the perfect chance. He grabbed Moriarty's arm, snatched up the needles, and implanted them into his flesh. John and Moriarty met each other's eyes. The army doctor's hand rested on the plungers, expression showing that he wouldn't even hesitate to kill him. Moriarty, ignoring his disappointment that this wasn't Sherlock, smiled to John, the game was just getting better every time. John pulled the evil man in front of him. The three snipers stood with their weapons, unsure on what to do. They each had a shot but Moriarty would die from those injections. A laugh broke into their thoughts, Moriarty manically showing his appreciation for this change.

" You're a quick one." Moriarty noted, his giggles subsiding to allow his words out.

" I've been told." John muttered into the other man's ears. Moriarty smiled widely, like his face would split apart from the movement. John pulled his now prisoner back two steps, ending up behind Sherlock.

" Pull out his restraints." John ordered. Moriarty looked to his snipers then leaned down with his continuing amusement. John kept his hands over the plunger of each syringe, watching the other man closely. Moriarty pulled out the restraints and the detective stood. Sherlock had a small smile on his face, rubbing his aching wrists. He looked to the snipers; expression telling them the duo had won. John tugged Moriarty with him, Sherlock walking briskly for a door. His eyes scanned the whole place then pinpointed an exit.

" It's locked." Sherlock let out, knowing Moriarty wouldn't be that sloppy.

" Give me the key." John ordered his prisoner.

" I don't have it, Johnny boy." Moriarty let out but Sherlock's hand dipped into his pockets. He looked to the detective, smile still on his face.

" Isn't that after the first date?" Moriarty questioned. Sherlock pulled out the key, making no comment, and started for the door. He clicked open the exit and pushed it open. John pulled Moriarty out the door and the three felt relatively fresh air. The soldier allowed Moriarty to turn, let their eyes meet, and John pushed his hand down. Each syringed dipped further into the other man's skin. Moriarty's face fell into very quick anger.

" You idiot!" Moriarty cried out.

" I hope it hurts." John whispered into the other man's ear. Moriarty grabbed for John's jumper, but the army doctor just ripped the touch off of him. John dropped the man to the ground. He didn't need a long moral debate with this decision, the soldier decided to take action. A hand landed on John's arm and he tore his eyes away from Moriarty. Sherlock's eyes looked a little surprised at John's actions but he pulled the other man into motion before questions popped up. Their hands found each other while their feet discovered a path away from what was going to be at least one of their deaths.

Sherlock's feet slid to a stop, John pulled to a stand still from their connected hands. In their pause, they both fought to calm their heavy breaths. John put one hand on his knee. Sherlock looked to their connected arms and the realization dawned on him. John had the similar thought when his arm wasn't moving on it's own accord. Their eyes met and their hands quickly split from each other. They quietly looked away from each other, sharing a similar uncomfortable notion. Sherlock chalked it up to adrenaline while John just put it with trauma.

" Are you okay?" Sherlock questioned, picking a new topic to think about.

" I'm good." John's breath was heavy.

" You just likely killed someone." Sherlock let out, trying to calm his quick breaths.

" He was bloody Moriarty." John's arm flew out with his explanation.

" My question still stands." Sherlock said.

" I am going to throw a god damn party if that bastard is actually dead." John said, completely serious. Sherlock looked over his face for a second then turned his eyes to the ground. He leaned down, his breath almost lost from his lungs.

" You." John pulled in a deep breath to finish his sentence. " Just don't want the game to be over."

" Don't be ridiculous John." Sherlock replied.

" That's not even a no." John pulled himself up, the oxygen returning to his tired lungs. Sherlock shook his head in no, trying to say that he disagreed. John's chest moved up and down with the pattern slowing down. Sherlock too felt his heart begin the process of calming. John started to search his pockets to see if, randomly, he was left anything. There was nothing. His eyes scanned around what seemed like a collection of factories. John didn't even feel like they were in London anymore, none of this looked even slightly familiar. Sherlock brought himself to his full height.

" We're only a few miles out of London." Sherlock figured.

" We don't have any money for a cab…do we?" John realized.

" I could steal a car."

" We could find a phone." Sherlock and John, having started speaking at the same time, looked to each other.

" Your plan sounds easier." Sherlock let out.

" And much more legal." John added.

" But much less fun." Sherlock said back. John shook his head at the other's words.

" Let's just find a phone." John let out.

" Hey…um, you…that was…you saved me." Sherlock stumbled over the idea of thanks.

" Any time." John smiled. Sherlock looked to the expression then just nodded in his own version of appreciation. John turned his head to the side, trying to see if there was an easy place to find said phone. Sherlock did a quick scan then his steps started to the right. John looked to him then caught up. The duo walked in time, John feeling the bullet that had ripped through his leg that little time ago. The adrenaline that was allowing him to run wore off and John suddenly wished he had his cane, even if he had been refusing it


	5. Chapter 5

John picked up the letters that sat in the entrance. Two were bills; one was just a random ad, and one that felt heavier than a usual letter. John flipped it around to find no address, postage, or even a single word written over the envelope. The soldier flipped around, ripping open the door, and looking outside. A blue car was turning the corner, two people were walking down the street chatting, and there were multiple cars parked around. John tried to pick out if one of them had delivered the message but knew he couldn't pin point which one. The army doctor retracted back into the door, pulling it closed with extra care to lock it, and made his way up the stairs. He tore the unmarked envelope open and found the DVD inside, also unnamed. John felt the dread fill his stomach and walked into the flat. He decided not to put it in his computer in fear of a virus. Sherlock looked up to see John implanting a DVD in the player, seeing the concern in his quick hands.

" That is?" Sherlock wondered.

" I have no idea." John let out. The screen appeared after the DVD had been read and just gave an option to play. Sherlock and John shared a glance and the army doctor started the mysterious disk. He stepped back towards the couch that the telly was positioned before. The screen was dark then a light came on, or more the night vision on a camera was engaged. They both recognized it in a second: it was the stairs to 221B. There were quiet steps and breathing that the camera picked up. The film panned over the empty and dark flat then turned to the stairs. The camera went up the steps, giving a glance to Sherlock's room, and then turning up the rest of the stairs. John could feel his stomach turn while the door the opened. The entrance was silent and the camera caught John's sleeping form. The next few seconds were a jumble of images, Sherlock noted from being passed. The camera focused on John and another body that appeared in the shot. Moriarty sat next to John's resting form, smile already over his face. He looked to John.

" Doesn't he look so cute? Even when the nightmares come. Obviously, Sherlock, you understand my message, but for our little soldier, I will explain it in detail. I can get to you at any time, any where, and one of these days, when you stop being interesting, I will kill you. Remember that." Moriarty put a light hand on the sleeping John's cheek, showing just how close he was.

" He can barely move his other arm." John noticed the still appendage. Sherlock turned his head to him; a little impressed this was John's first reaction to such an unsettling truth.

" Cyanide did damage to the muscle." Sherlock let out the facts. The soldier watched Moriarty's fingers retract from his face. The man stood just as the camera shut off. John found his hand on his own cheek, feeling like it burned from the menacing touch. He shifted his back in an attempt to stay calm but this tore at his seams. John had few places he was safe and apparently in his own god damn bed he had to fear for his life. Sherlock's eyes had focused in on John, reading through his walls. The detective stood up, stepping over to the DVD player, and turned it off. The telly went to black and John's head dipped down. He rubbed his hands through his short hair. A body landed next to him, Sherlock resting himself back on the couch. He made no move to touch John but showed his willingness to stay with him in any comfort he might need. John's fingers tensed on his head and the small amount of fear he would allow his body revealed.

~SH~

Sherlock sat. He felt like he had been sitting for hours and to some way he was correct, if not thinking quite an understatement. It had been 9 hours of straight sitting on the corner of the bed. His elbows dug into his thighs, hands intertwined to give his chin a place to rest. He didn't need the fingers pressing into his lips, he wasn't thinking, he was just swimming through his brain like it was an ocean. Sherlock could feel the water grab at him with sticky tentacles dragging him into the deep abyss. His breath had calmed to almost non-existent while he lost all consciousness of his body. A quiet sound came from the flat and Sherlock's eyes actually shifted to the side instead of burning a focused hole into the carpet. He labeled it as feet, likely John's. Sherlock slowly pulled his body up, his muscles groaning with the movement.

" Bloody…" Sherlock started, the pain shooting through his back, dropping his body to the bed. His spine complained adamantly even as the soft mattress cuddled it. Sherlock wanted to roll his eyes at his body, telling it to not be so dramatic. A little soreness was nothing compared to real injuries. His eyes rolled to the side, giving a half attempt at seeing the clock. It wasn't in range and Sherlock had no intention on moving to see it. Time was just a concept anyway.

" You're seriously still here?" John's voice came out, showing his quiet entrance. His tone was slightly concerned with a large dose of not understanding why the other man had shut down.

" Hello to you too." Sherlock answered gruffly.

" You know, he was in my bedroom. Not yours. And I've gone to work." John took a step forward into the room.

" He's survived cyanide." Sherlock's arms popped up to emphasize the point of how Moriarty seemed to survive anything.

" He's just bloody lucky I didn't know what was in each one. It was pure chance that he lived through it." John shrugged the idea off. He knew Moriarty was just a man, a psycho with a lot of money and manpower, but a person nonetheless.

" Cyanide works very quickly." Sherlock responded, hands dropping back to the bed.

" It was injected into his arm, not even in the vein. You're the bloody scientist." John countered.

" He's bested me multiple times." Sherlock said.

" He has hundreds of people behind him, snipers, criminals, and who knows what else. You have yourself and me with a gun. We have escaped him, outsmarted him, and done things that were completely unexpected. We've almost killed him now. A duo versus a hundred seems pretty unequal but we keep winning." John flipped the perspective.

" But the war John, how can we win the war?" Sherlock questioned out, frustrated that this idea was plaguing him.

" By winning each battle. In Afghanistan, it wasn't like we would push through some territory and just make it safe, we had to stay and fight, retreat back a few steps, and then come back with vengeance. It's never pretty or a simple win, it's war." John explained, his steps slowly moving closer and closer to the other man.

" You actually have more confidence in my abilities than I do in the moment." Sherlock said, pulling his head up to see the army doctor.

" Then come on, prove it to yourself." John offered out his hand. Sherlock regarded the outstretched arm, debating the implications of such an action. He put his hand out, making John take a step forward to connect them. John pulled Sherlock up and off the bed. The detective shifted his aching spine around then smoothed his shirt with his free hand. John looked at Sherlock for a little then the warm palms that were nestled together. Sherlock felt he looked slightly more presentable then met John's searching eyes.

" I can see the questions brewing in your eyes." Sherlock stated.

" I'm just wondering how long you were going to hold my hand." John smiled a little.

" I could ask you the same question." Sherlock challenged.

" Your hand is freezing, I'm just warming it." John excused himself.

" I'm giving you moral support for having a mad man come into your room." Sherlock brought in his own justification. They shared a small smile, knowledge behind their lips.

" What will we tell Mycroft?" John let out, thinking of the surveillance that was likely hearing every word they were saying.

" To piss off." Sherlock smiled a little. John laughed, a light sound with a large grin. Sherlock looked to the smiling doctor the pulled on their hands very lightly. John could see the direction he was going, towards the bed, and his expression faltered for a moment. Sherlock dropped back to sitting on the mattress, John falling next to him. The detective turned his eyes to the ground. John chose a position to sit in, one arm out to keep their hands connected while his spine straightened to look forward at the wall. It wasn't every day they were threatened with death…well, maybe it was more common for the duo, but one glance different, one changed thought of Moriarty, and they would have been dead. The two man sat in a comfortable silence, remembering that they were miraculously alive.

~The end~


End file.
